


PIECES

by thelastatlantean



Category: CSI: NY
Genre: 5.17, Episode Related, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-20 10:20:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1506983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelastatlantean/pseuds/thelastatlantean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Missing scene for episode 5.17</p>
            </blockquote>





	PIECES

**Author's Note:**

> Missing scene for episode 5.17 'Green Piece'. My muse insists that Danny and Lindsay's nuptials took place the day AFTER the conclusion of this case. This therefore takes place immediately after the case wraps and before the wedding.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing - all characters are the property of CBS. If you wish to sue, go ahead - frankly I could use some help paying off my student loans.

* * *

The conclusion of a case usually brought a sense of grim satisfaction to Stella Bonasera. The puzzle had been unravelled, the mystery solved. The guilty party was in custody with enough evidence piled up against them (gathered by the finest CSI’s in New York, if she did say so herself) to put them behind bars for a very long time. The victims had justice, and the families had closure. Easily 95% of the cases she worked for the New York City Crime Lab ended like that.

Unfortunately, this one seemed like it was going to fall into that pesky 5% that weren’t so easy to reconcile. If the faces of the poor (in so many senses of the word) people in Guiyu, China didn’t haunt her dreams tonight, the knowledge of the sacrifice made by Alison Redman, dying in an attempt to save her father even though he barely deserved it, almost certainly would. In either case, it equated to unnecessary death and suffering by everyone except the one who was the most guilty (although she hoped after learning the truth about his daughter, Felix Redman might at least now begin to grow something resembling a conscience).

Either way, Stella wasn’t especially looking forward to going home. There was precious little there to distract her from the images dancing around in her head.

So, she was procrastinating – the pile of paperwork on her desk was now substantially smaller than when she had returned from interrogation. Her office in general was a lot tidier too – she could actually walk all the way across it without having to navigate around something. A first, she thought wryly.

Beyond the glass walls of her office, the New York City crime lab carried on as normal, with the nightshift techs busily sifting through evidence gathered in countless other cases, both new and old. The rest of her team were nowhere in sight – given the late hour she imagined they had long-since left for their respective homes or distractions. If Don and Danny were at homes other than their own, she would be the least surprised person on Earth, but that was beside the point. They had all gone _somewhere._

All except one, she admitted to herself with a sense of resignation and a mental eye-roll. Mac Taylor was without question the most dedicated CSI she had ever known or worked with, and rarely left the lab at anything remotely resembling a reasonable hour on the best of days. This case – the outright senselessness of the whole thing – and their tangles with the eco-terrorist group the Purists meant that he was unquestionably still in his office, tirelessly pursuing every possible lead to track down more Purists and put them behind bars. She did not doubt that he understood their cause, but Mac was a former Marine, a man of honour, and he had no time or sympathy for the methods the Purists chose to use to send their message.

Shaking her head, Stella turned back to her desk, only to find with some dismay that the pile of paperwork from her IN tray was now all in her OUT tray. She had no viable reason left to avoid going home. Almost as soon as the realisation hit, the images returned, flickering past her mind’s eye like some hideous parody of a slide-show. She pushed the heels of her hands into her eyes, squeezing them shut as if it might make the children in her head disappear – it didn’t work.

Resigned, Stella pushed back from the desk and rose stiffly – apparently she had been sitting longer than she realised. She rubbed the back of her neck and turned, grabbing her coat from the rack by the door and flipping the light switch off. She stood for a moment in the darkness, weighing her options. She could go home, try to sleep, face the nightmares. She could go to a bar, drown her sorrows in drink long enough to put the nightmares off – that wasn’t her style though. As tempting as it might seem now, she would regret it almost immediately – it would be a brief reprieve at best, and avoiding issues in such a manner was not how Stella handled things. She’d been through enough crap in her life, and survived it, to know she was stronger than that. Using alcohol to hide from her fears was weak – Stella was not.

That left her with one more option – the only one, if she were honest with herself – and having made the decision she pushed the glass door open with one hand and turned resolutely toward her chosen destination.

* * *

Mac Taylor sighed heavily and rubbed his eyes. He’d lost track of how long he’d been at his computer following trails, trying to track down more members of the Purists. Theodore Wicks (he refused to refer to that smug, self-entitled asshole as Teddy Mayhem) had pissed him off royally, and he was determined to bring his group down. Environmental activism was one thing, but the Purists crossed the line in Mac’s eyes (and perhaps more importantly, the law’s) and there was no way he was going to allow it to continue. It offended his sense of honour to think that he’d fought for his country, that he’d had friends and colleagues die fighting for this country, all so some over-privileged little snot could play with explosives and call it ‘saving the world’. You didn’t save the world by killing people.

And what was the point of an eco-terrorist group blowing up a gas station anyway? Wasn’t the point to get people to stop burning gasoline? He chuckled wryly, and considered what his fellow CSI’s might think of his uncharacteristically uncharitable feelings in this case. Normally he was the voice of reason, urging rational thought, and adherence to the evidence. Tonight, and in the privacy of his own mind, he decided to allow himself to be thoroughly irritated.

He wasn’t sure anyone would condemn him for his private thoughts anyway – between the senseless death of a young woman, the horrors perpetrated on the people of Guiyu, and very nearly losing in the explosion one of the best lab techs Mac had ever worked with (not that he was telling Adam that) – everyone was ready to put this case behind them.

Stella seemed to have taken this case to heart. She often did – hers was a compassionate soul – but Mac got the sense that this one might have cut deeper. He wasn’t entirely sure why, or how his thoughts had so suddenly and easily drifted to his partner (alright, he knew the answer to the last part; he just wasn’t prepared to deal with that right now). He wondered abruptly if she was still at the lab – a glance at his wristwatch confirmed both the lateness of the hour, and his sense that the lab was much emptier than the last time he’d mentally re-surfaced. Mac hoped she had gone home, for her own sake, but he strongly suspected she hadn’t. For one, she hadn’t been by his office to bid him goodnight, nor attempt (fruitlessly, they both knew) to convince him to go home and get some sleep. This had become routine over the years, and although loathe to admit it, had also become one of his favourite parts of the day. Due to caseload and shift patterns he didn’t always get to work with her during the day; her coming by his office to good-naturedly tease him about his workaholic tendencies was sometimes the most he got to see her. And getting to see Stella was rapidly becoming the best part of his day.

Choosing for the moment not to examine that little admission any further, Mac pushed back his chair and stood, barely stifling a groan as numerous joints cracked back into their rightful places. Some days he really did feel he was getting too old for this. Stella liked to tease him about that too, he recalled with fond exasperation. Technically she was his subordinate, but he couldn’t remember the last time she’d acted like it. Or that he’d considered her one, for that matter. She was his second-in-command, his right hand, his constant in an ever-changing world.....

Mac shook his head – perhaps it was time he thought about heading home himself. Or at least caught some sleep on the couch in his office – clearly the lack of rest was making his mind travel to places that were normally expressly forbidden. He’d crash on the couch, he decided – that way he could sleep for a couple of hours, then get back to the search more of the Purists. He wasn’t prepared to allow himself to return home until he’d followed up on all the leads he had, but some rest would freshen him up, help him to focus better. First though, he was going to head down the hall to Stella’s office to make sure she’d gone home. If she had, he’d give her call maybe, see if she was doing okay. He couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that this case had bothered her more than usual, and with his focus temporarily removed from work that concern was getting stronger.

He turned towards his office door, intent on finding Stella, and nearly jumped out of his skin when he realised the woman in question was standing on the other side of the glass. He smiled in welcome.

“Speak of the devil,” he muttered.

* * *

It hadn’t taken long for Stella to reach Mac’s office, but once there she had hesitated. Mac was her best friend, no question, but he wasn’t one much for talking about feelings. He tended to bury them, and himself, in his work instead. Certainly he was better now than in years past, since Claire’s death, but he was still a consummate stoic. She wasn’t sure how to approach this.

So she paused outside his door, watching. Although his desk faced the hallway, he didn’t see her immediately – he was obviously consumed in his work. Stella, despite herself, found a smile tugging at the corners of her lips – she loved watching him work. His passion, his dedication; the level of focus all intent on righting the wrong, correcting the injustice. It was heartening, after all she’d seen on the job, not to mention her own poor luck with personal relationships, to know that there were still good men out there.

Stella’s train of thought was broken when Mac shifted suddenly; she saw him check his watch, then stand – she didn’t bother to hide the grin as she all but heard his spine creak in protest at being sat for too long. She watched him shake his head and pursed her lips, her troubles momentarily forgotten – he was obviously tired, yet he was still here working. She hadn’t got past the (albeit fond) irritation at this revelation when she realised he’d stopped moving. She looked up and stifled a start of surprise when she met his eyes directly. He clearly wasn’t expecting to see her – he appeared to stop himself jumping two feet in the air only by sheer willpower – but he still smiled. Stella couldn’t quite stop the rush of butterflies in her stomach that always seemed to accompany the sight of his smile these days (though if she were brutally honest, there had always been at least a hint of them for a lot longer) and found herself smiling back. See, this was why she’d come here – Mac may be hopeless with expressing emotions, but he still managed to make her feel calmer; safe somehow, simply by being there. She felt better without having to say a word.

She pushed open the door to his office.

“Hey,” she said, “What are you still doing here? It’s late”.

“Was about to ask you the same thing,” he said, quirking an eyebrow.

“Touché,” she fired back, smirking. The smile didn’t last long on her lips.

“You having any luck tracking down more Purists?” she asked, nodding towards his computer. Blue light from the monitor bathed the desk – he could hardly claim to have been doing anything else.

Mac sighed heavily. “Some,” he said tiredly. Stella could hear the unspoken ‘not enough’ in his tone. She flashed a quick, conciliatory smile.

“You’ll get them Mac,” she asserted confidently – she knew him well enough to know he wouldn’t stop until he had. He would take all the responsibility for doing so on his own shoulders too. “ ** _We’ll_** get them,” she emphasised carefully. He smiled ruefully and nodded – he knew her well enough to know she’d never let him shoulder the burden alone.

“So,” he said, remembering his original reason for wanting to track her down in the first place, “how are you doing?”

“Me?” Stella blinked in surprise.

“Yeah – I know this case has been bothering you. It’s late; we’ve wrapped the case and you’re still here-”

“So are you!” Stella jumped in defensively, crossing her arms across her chest. Her curls shook slightly, and Mac had a sudden image of a much-younger Stella stubbornly shaking her head and stamping her foot in refusal. He hurriedly swallowed the bark of laughter the image provoked.

“Yes,” he said patiently, “but as you’re so fond of pointing out, I might as well lease out my apartment and live here.” He noted with some relief that his self-deprecation brought a hint of a smile to her face. It hadn’t been his intention to upset her further, but he wasn’t sure how else to broach the subject other than to just ask. She was too much like him in some ways – if he’d tried (clumsily, he had to concede) to be subtle in expressing his concern she would have brushed him off with an airy “I’m fine”. This way she might just let go and be honest with him.

“So,” he repeated gently, but firmly, “how are you?”

Stella paused – she had no idea why she wanted to tell him she was fine and change the subject. The whole point of coming to see him instead of going home had been because she was having a hard time with this case. She just hadn’t expected him to broach the subject first. Apparently Mac was better with feelings than she had given him credit for. She sighed, feeling once again the weight of the long day, of the emotional turmoil of the case settle on her shoulders. Her chest tightened as the pictures began to dance through her head again – the toxic towers of electronic waste; the barefoot children exposed to heavy metals and radiation for a pittance wage; Alison Redman, her young life snuffed out in an attempt to save the father who was responsible for so much of this horror in the first place. She was mortified to feel her eyes start to sting, and dropped her gaze to the floor, swallowing hard.

“’M fine,” she mumbled, her voice quavering. She cursed herself silently for the slip.

Mac was shocked – he’d known this case had gotten under Stella’s skin more than most, but clearly he’d had no idea how much. He half-regretted bringing it up at all; the last thing in the world he’d wanted to do was make her feel worse. He took a step forward, tentatively reaching out to lay a hand on her shoulder. He squeezed gently.

“Stel?” he whispered, trying to catch her down-turned eyes. She sniffed, and slowly raised her head. Her eyes were dull, tired. She looked suddenly exhausted. Mac slid his hand down her arm to her elbow and gripped softly, steering her over to his couch. Stella complied almost robotically, which did little to assuage his concern for her.

He sat down beside her, his arm brushing against hers in a silent gesture of support.

Stella remained silent, eyes fixed straight ahead. She wasn’t unaware – she knew she had to be completely freaking Mac out – but she couldn’t quite find the words. Her head felt like it was full of little pieces of glass; shards of different, flickering images that danced behind her eyes, taunting her, stabbing at her mind and her heart. It was deeply disconcerting to realise that she couldn’t control these pieces, and she had no idea how to verbalise any of this to Mac without sounding like she’d lost her damn mind. She sucked in a deep breath, and turned to meet Mac’s concerned gaze.

“Sorry,” she offered softly. “Didn’t mean to disappear on you.”

Mac was quite obviously worried now – despite his gut feeling that Stella was upset, he hadn’t expected her reaction to a simple inquiry into her wellbeing to illicit this kind of response. She was such a strong person, had withstood so much in her life, that to see her visibly struggling over this one case momentarily robbed him of his better senses. All he could process was that she was upset. Perched on the sofa beside her, he reached over to her hands, clasped tightly in her lap (so tight her knuckles were turning white, he noted distantly) and covered them with his own, squeezing gently.

“Stella,” he responded in equally soft tones. “Tell me.”

The simple, yet utterly unexpected gesture caused her breath to catch in her throat. What had she been supposing earlier, about Mac being no good with emotions? Clearly he was doing just fine now, her rational mind mocked. She breathed in again, slow and deep this time, trying to gather the pieces of her thoughts together.

“Its...” she started, then paused almost immediately. She felt another squeeze around her hands, and continued. “This whole case Mac,” she told him. “There’s just been so much wasted that didn’t have to be.”

She stopped again, and laughed harshly at herself. “You know, I actually felt bad for Felix Redman,” she said, anger seeping into her tone. “Almost killed by a bomb, his home destroyed, his daughter killed... And the whole time, he was responsible for all of it!”

“Okay, so he didn’t plant the bomb in that van. Instead he packed them into shipping containers and dispatched them to China, for women and children to crawl through, breathing in poison for less money a day than we make in an hour. All so he could pad his bottom line and still look like one of the good guys.”

Stella paused, trying to tamp down her rapidly-increasing anger. She shut her eyes for a moment; when she opened them she found herself looking directly into Mac’s.

“Those children Mac,” she breathed, the anger deflating as the sadness returned. “Those people, in Guiyu, slowly killing themselves over cathode ray tubes and copper wiring. And Alison Redman; Teddy Mayhem tricked her into being responsible for murdering her own father, and even when she knew the truth about who he really was she still tried to save him.” She trailed off, swiping angrily at a lone tear as it threatened to fall from her eye. She exhaled heavily.

“I just can’t shake this one yet Mac,” she whispered, ashamed. “It’s sticking in my head – every time I close my eyes I see those children. I see Alison. I see Felix Redman’s smug, lying face when I confronted him over the illegal waste shipments.”

Inside his own mind, Mac was seething at her admission. Up until now, his primary focus had been the Purists; now he cursed himself for not seeing the other side of the situation sooner. He cursed Felix Redman – all this could have been avoided but for his greed. He even cursed Stella for the shame in her admission to him that she was struggling with the aftermath – did he really make her (and perhaps the rest of his team) feel so bad for having human emotions over their cases? Now he was back to cursing himself. Without thinking, he let go of Stella’s hands and wound his right arm around her shoulders, pulling her bodily up against him. He heard her breath hitch, and she paused a moment as if waiting for approval before burying her face in his neck.

Stella was entirely taken aback at Mac’s arm winding around her shoulders; still further when he pulled her closer. Oh sure, they’d hugged before, but she couldn’t for the life of her remember a time when it had been him initiating the contact. Usually she had to barrel past his defences, pretending to be oblivious to his reticence over any physical contact. Her throat constricted slightly at the tenderness of the gesture, before she threw caution to the wind and leaned into him, nuzzling into the side of his throat. She breathed deeply, inhaling the familiar scent that was uniquely Mac; she could feel the tightness in her chest loosening as the smell of him overwhelmed her senses. The fragmented images in her mind began to fade. For the first time in hours, she felt a genuine smile lifting the corners of her mouth.

Mac felt her smile against his skin, and an answering grin formed on his own face. He squeezed her shoulders, and turned his head slightly to kiss the top of her head. He was distantly surprised by this boldness – he normally went out of his way to avoid touching her with such familiarity, for fear that he’d give himself away by his actions – and even more surprised when he realised he really didn’t care. It was late; they’d both had long, equally crappy days; the lab was practically empty; their team long-since gone. Regulations (both NYPD and his own) be damned, he decided, if it meant he couldn’t show offer some comfort to this woman, his best friend, when she needed it.

Stella felt the kiss atop her head and smiled widely – apparently she was beyond surprise at Mac’s actions at this point, she thought wryly. She shifted slightly so that she could look up at him; he caught her eyes, and returned the smile, squeezing her closer yet again. She felt a sense of peace settle over her; the trials of the day suddenly seemed distant, hazy. She wasn’t stupid – she knew she wouldn’t forget the events of this case anytime soon, but for the first time all day she felt like she could actually deal with it.

“Hey,” she said, sounding much more like herself than before.

“What?” Mac chuckled with relief at her changed mood – he didn’t think he’d done all that much, but if whatever it was had made her feel better, he was happy.

“I’m hungry,” she said, widening her eyes and pouting her lower lip slightly. They both started laughing at the resulting look on Mac’s face.

“Chinese?” he asked

“Sounds good,” she nodded enthusiastically. “Your place or mine?”

Mac raised an eyebrow; Stella rolled her eyes at him in response.

“Fine, my place,” she sighed dramatically, then giggled at the look of mock-resignation on Mac’s face. “C’mon Mac – its long after quitting time. I think we’ve earned the right to actually go home and eat.”

Mac just shook his head and rose from the couch, heading over to his desk to shut down his computer. Stella stood too, rolling her neck to release the kinks as he turned off the desk light and retrieved his jacket from the stand. She smiled at him.

“Ready?” she asked. Mac nodded, and offered her his arm; he smirked and winked at the look on her face.

“Ready.” He smiled as she took his arm. Together they headed out; for tonight at least, all the pieces had fallen back into place.


End file.
